


Sorry, Wrong Number

by Megalohdon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (No skating here guys sorry), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Indie film director Viktor, M/M, Rating May Change, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Wrong Number AU, linguist Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-23 21:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12517164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalohdon/pseuds/Megalohdon
Summary: (SENT)i think you have the wrong numberYuuri was never one to count the time it took to get a response, but he was aware enough to know he had hardly closed out of the messages app before his phone buzzed again with a reply. He felt bad, really, pitied them more with how quickly they responded because he was sure they were mortified by their mistake. That was fair, it wasn’t every day you sent a stranger an article about how to take it up the ass safely, and in the sender’s defense, Yuuri was probably one of the least likely people to make a big deal out of it. It could have been worse.(UNKNOWN)I am so sorryORThe Wrong Number AU where Viktor accidentally messages Yuuri about an article regarding tips for anal sex and Yuuri comes to terms with the fact that the man who filmed his favorite movie was texting him good morning now.





	1. Chapter 1

Yuuri was twenty-four.

           He was twenty-four with a plan – a five-year plan, Yuuri said, laid out in increments that’d guide him down the path to love and fulfillment. He’d had it written out since he was thirteen when he made a promise to the North Star one night in late December that he’d stick with it, and hadn’t ventured past that since. His mother was happy that something was keeping him on track, but it was Mari who criticized him initially.

           Not that Yuuri was one to blame her.

           Because his five-year plan wasn’t for his general future, just the possible romantic one, and while it was well-thought-out and proven by research and psychological studies, it wasn’t anything conducive to a job or anything remotely related to having him support himself. Love was just a promise of warmth and security, that feeling of peace that came with knowing how special you were to someone. Much to his dismay, it didn’t pay any bills. Mari once said, three months after he turned seventeen, that he needed to think of his future outside of possible romances. Where would he go to college? Would he even attend? What did he want to study?

           What was he passionate about?

           “Languages,” he said, and she ran a calloused hand through his messy locks and gave him a gentle shove. Yuuri was smart, smarter than he gave himself credit for, and determined to do his best if he saw a goal that kept him motivated. Love pushed him forward in life, but to get him to settle on  _ something  _ for his future was a feat in and of itself. 

Love was everything he promised himself he deserved.

           “Linguistics major then, huh,” Mari questioned, gaze heavy as she scanned over Yuuri’s body sprawled out on the floor of her bedroom as he nodded in response, “I think that’d fit you well. You always had a knack for picking these things up from our foreign guests. Might as well capitalize on it, right?”

           Which he did, of course. He left home three years after, in mid-July when the sun hung high and the heat bore through his skin, warming his core and leaving him inspired. Yuuri took his love for languages and built his future off that, told his family he’d make them proud by becoming someone who could work as a professional translator. He could go to any country he wanted if he studied hard enough, carved out time from his life to become an expert of a foreign tongue. Mari had studied business, so the onsen was left in good hands for the future, which gave him peace of mind to pursue a degree in linguistics like he wanted.

           Yuuri took up studies at the University College London, applied for the International Linguistics program where he found himself at home for three years and met his self-proclaimed best friend Phichit in his third year once they were bunked together in the dorms. It was an easy friendship, with a bit of urging on Phichit’s end to get Yuuri to open up and find room for friendship in his solitary life. It was enough to satisfy his social cravings, give him a necessary link to reality whenever Yuuri burrowed into his textbooks too late into the night and he needed to be shuffled into bed.

           It was Phichit who promised to always be there for him one early Tuesday morning in February when Yuuri finally had the realization that towards the end of the year he’d be studying abroad -  _ again,  _ now in the United States _ \-  _  for his degree. His London apartment had become his second sanctuary, where he placed pictures on bookshelves, niche art hung on the walls, and small, potted succulents found their homes in various windowsills and the countertops in the kitchen. Phichit never complained about Yuuri leaving his mark on the apartment, saying letting the hamsters pave the way for future generations in their hamster balls was enough to keep him satisfied.

           Phichit was also the one who, boyfriend in tow, picked Yuuri up from London International two hundred and forty days after he left London to make himself comfortable in the dorms of Wayne State in Detroit. It was an eventful year – an  _ interesting  _ year – which followed up with his graduation back in the city the following Saturday. Seung-Gil, the new boyfriend, had brought up a conversation topic on the taxi drive back to their apartment, and Yuuri could only flash Phichit a questioning look that was shrugged off with a smirk before he relented into explaining.

          Something about Yuuri’s five-year plan always intrigued Phichit, and now his poor boyfriend had been brought in, drowning in confusion, and Yuuri was now designated to pull him out.

           “The five-year plan,” Yuuri started, hands folded together between his knees as he leaned forward enough to hold eye contact with the man who prompted him with a question, “is broken into three segments. You date for two years, you live together for two years, and then in the fifth year, you decide on marriage. It’s the perfect guideline to go by. After two years you know someone almost completely, then when you manage two years of living together you understand what you can and can’t live with. That last year is all up to you. Either you settle down or move on, but it’s proven to be a successful system.”

           “So it has nothing to do with Stalin?” A thick, full brow crept its way up Seung-Gil’s forehead, and Yuuri had to keep himself from looking outright affronted when he drew his attention from the man on the far side of the cab to his friend in the middle, who was bodily holding in laughter with a hand over his mouth and tears in the corners of both his eyes. “All I told him was you had a five-year plan,” Phichit said through the pressure of his hand, “and he’s a history major so he took from it what he could.”

           “ _ No, _ this has nothing to do with Stalin.”

           Seung-Gil took a moment to soak this in, pressed himself up against the door of the cab and kept to himself for the remainder of the ride. Phichit spoke then, prompting Yuuri to sit back in his seat before he leaned in closer and dropped his voice, “You’re still sticking with that plan? Did you meet anyone across the pond, as they say?”

           Yuuri shook his head, gave his friend a gentle nudge so he was nestled comfortably against his boyfriend’s side again as Yuuri moved his gaze out the window. “I’m still committed to it, sure. I think it’s a good plan, and it worked for my parents. Five years is the  _ plan _ , anyway. Anything can happen but I’m not holding my breath for something starting right now.”

Five year plans though, no matter how detailed or well thought out, never really included the prospect of meeting one’s future spouse via random text one Wednesday evening late into October. It wasn’t for a lack of preparation, Yuuri had thought everything out. He never expected getting a text from a stranger would kickstart his plan into action, and he wasn’t convinced it would now that it happened.

           Phichit heard his phone go off first, which was how he managed to hold it over Yuuri’s head in the kitchen despite the fact that he was shorter. He had the advantage of being limber and took to the counters whenever he wanted a height advantage despite Yuuri’s general disdain regarding Phichit sitting on the surface where they prepare their meals. It was their  _ routine _ ; playful teasing and gentle banter.

           When Yuuri got his phone back he could only stare at the notification on his home screen while Phichit crawled down from the counter space by the sink. Yuuri could only let his thumb hover over the home button, obvious hesitation written into the smooth lines of his features before Phichit took his silence as an opportunity to comment. “Who is it? Booty call?”

           “Ha, ha. Cute,” Yuuri bit, breaking the tension in his own mind by unlocking the phone and opening up the text. “I don’t know the number, so I have no idea unless you were handing it out like candy again at another party.”

           “I would  _ never _ ! Again, anyway. And in my defense,  _ you  _ thought it was funny because only three people took the bait anyways.”

           A small smile curled up the corners of Yuuri’s lips at Phichit’s remark, and he was hesitant to say he’s right because he loathes the burning look of satisfaction on Phichit’s face any time that he does. Instead he keeps quiet, refocusing back on the phone in his hand before he can read over the message he had received.

03069 990572  
  
http://www.fashionbeans.com/2017/the-beginners-guide-to-anal-sex/  
  
Basically honey, it’s like the guy at the store said- you gotta work up to it. Start with fingering, use lots of lube. Slowly start moving onto bigger and badder things, you won’t be able to get it done all in one night, take your time and you and Chris experiment and play with it  
  


           Yuuri lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in the form of a quiet “holy shit,” and Phichit is up behind him taking the phone from his hands before he could even dignify a better response to the text he just received. He was  _ fairly  _ certain this wasn’t a dream, right? He and Phichit were in their apartment getting ready to cook dinner, BBC news was running on the television, and Yuuri was  _ positive _ he had just gotten the absolute weirdest text from a random number imaginable.

           Of course he did.

           “Wow, Yuuri, even strangers are trying to get you to loosen up a little. I think this is probably fate, you shouldn’t ignore this.” Yuuri’s phone is returned to him with a sly wave of Phichit’s right hand as he goes back to the fridge to dig around for ingredients, and for a moment he’s baffled solely by the thought that a text about working up to anal sex could be considered anything along the lines of  _ fate _ . No, fate was romantic; it was running into your soulmate at a coffee shop, spilled espresso on white pants and shared laughter and quiet conversation. Fate was having their dog tackle you at the park while you were taking a jog, or grabbing the same item off the shelf in the supermarket.  _ This  _ was decidedly not fate, but he did owe them a response.

           “A text like this isn’t fate, Phichit, it’s an accident.”

           “You could say the same thing about how I hit Seung-Gil in the face with a door when we met, but I’d argue otherwise!”

           Expecting a different view of romance from Phichit wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere, and regardless of what Yuuri thought Phichit  _ did  _ have a point; despite the unwelcome circumstances, he and Seung-Gil had been going strong for nine months after the entire incident took place back in December. It wasn’t perfect, and certainly wasn’t a story he’d be parading around proudly like they did so often, but it was theirs, and no matter how Yuuri felt, it was unique to their relationship and that’s what ultimately mattered.

           So instead of dignifying Phichit with a response, Yuuri went back to the text on his phone, eyes lingering on the link that had been texted to him as he hesitates to think of a response. There was always the option of being funny, hopefully saving both he and the sender some embarrassment if he passed it off as a joke, but he’s not sure they would appreciate that, and the horror of sending a link of that nature to a stranger would have been enough on its own to have him cancel his phone plan. The only option left was to be honest; if it were him he’d want to know that he made a mistake, but the best he can conjure up in text form was something along the lines of pseudo-pity.

03069 990572  
  
http://www.fashionbeans.com/2017/the-beginners-guide-to-anal-sex/  
  
Basically honey, it’s like the guy at the store said- you gotta work up to it. Start with fingering, use lots of lube. Slowly start moving onto bigger and badder things, you won’t be able to get it done all in one night, take your time and you and Chris experiment and play with it  
  
i think you have the wrong number  
  


           Yuuri was never one to count the time it took to get a response, but he  _ was  _ aware enough to know he had hardly closed out of the messages app before his phone buzzed again with a reply. He felt bad, really, pitied them more with how quickly they responded because he was sure they were mortified by their mistake. That was fair, it wasn’t every day you sent a stranger an article about how to take it up the ass safely, and in the sender’s defense, Yuuri was probably one of the least likely people to make a big deal out of it. It  _ could  _ have been worse.

           Without hesitating this time he reopened the message thread, saw the short four-word reply to his own text, and his heart clenched.

_ I hope I didn’t embarrass them. _

03069 990572  
  
http://www.fashionbeans.com/2017/the-beginners-guide-to-anal-sex/  
  
Basically honey, it’s like the guy at the store said- you gotta work up to it. Start with fingering, use lots of lube. Slowly start moving onto bigger and badder things, you won’t be able to get it done all in one night, take your time and you and Chris experiment and play with it  
  
i think you have the wrong number  
  
I am so sorry  
  


           Yuuri makes to reply before he sees a new bubble popping up, three dots telling him the stranger had something more to add, and Yuuri keeps his fingers hovering above the keyboard on his phone as he waits to see what needed to be said. People had  _ preferences _ . It was fine, it wasn’t weird that someone was curious about anal sex. It wasn’t strange to give counsel to a friend on the subject, either, so it wasn’t like Yuuri was going to chastise them for it.

           But instead of a wordy apology, Yuuri is greeted with a face. Two sentences, a dog, and a face that leaves him so breathless he almost drops his phone as he takes in a sharp inhale and fully relishes in the image that had been sent to him. He doesn’t want to say anything to Phichit, because him touting around the knowledge that he’s right would have soiled the mood, but Yuuri can’t help but let his eyes linger on the sharp features of a man who had  _ no  _ right looking that good, half pressed into the brown curls of a standard poodle. Larger than his Vicchan, but definitely not as cute.

           (Still pretty up there on his personal list of  _ Top Ten Best Dogs Ever _ .)

           (He may have also been extremely biased when you considered the gorgeous man holding onto said dog in the photo, but he wasn’t one to admit to any bias.)

I really am so sorry. I promise I’m not a creep, I hope my dog makes up for the mistake!  
  


           And it did, really, Yuuri couldn’t deny himself that much. He wasn’t sure he would have taken the picture at face value if it  _ hadn’t  _ been for the stranger, but piercing arctic gems kept him on the hook. He thinks that’s what caught him first, the underlying current of warmth simmering beneath the ice of his gaze, but there was no malice in his irises, and the soft silver fringe that hung in front of his left eye gave him an air of playful and mysterious that drew Yuuri in more.

           Though if you really asked him for his favorite feature, after telling him the man’s eyes pointedly  _ didn’t  _ count, he’d have said his strong Greek nose that kept his features defined with a simple elegance Yuuri lacked. Attractiveness came in tiers, and while Yuuri was sure he was about mid-level (nothing to complain about, but he wouldn’t personally preen publicly whenever someone looked his way either), this man was at the top of a ladder he couldn’t dream of climbing.

           It was cruel that fate sends him a man so gorgeous, so warm beneath a surface of embarrassment, and so incredibly, undeniably  _ untouchable. _

           So, naturally, Yuuri sent him a picture in return. One of the better ones, even if it was almost a year old, captioned with an appropriate ‘it’s okay, I’m not a creep either’. If the other guy needed to prove he wasn’t weird then  _ Yuuri  _ certainly wouldn’t mind showing that he’s not either. Sometimes a friendly face is welcomed when you manage to make a fool out of yourself, and Yuuri thinks to himself that the picture of him that he took in mid-December, bundled up with a hat and three scarves with his smile peeking over the top, was about as welcoming as anything.

           “Did you figure out who it was? Was it some mid-forties housewife who probably downs a bottle of rosè every night while she watches her soaps?” Phichit is proud of himself as he moves the chopped vegetables around in the pan, and he flashes Yuuri a wry smile and a wink over his shoulder before he refocuses back on the food.  _ Stir-Fry _ , Yuuri thinks,  _ that’s acceptable _ . It was also the best dish his roommate could manage, so he never fought when it happened to be on the menu for the night.

           “Kind of. I’m not going to ask for a name or anything, but he’s definitely  _ not  _ a housewife. Or in his forties, or if he  _ is  _ he’s definitely doing something illegal.”

           “Why? Does he have a look? Like, a glint in his eye or something?”

           “Phichit, I mean he’s  _ hot _ .”

           The chef-on-duty pauses his motions with the spatula, sets it down on the counter beside the stove with a quiet thud, and he turns to give Yuuri the most serious look he can manage with a heat flushed face and his bangs clipped back and out of the way. “How hot are we talking here?” Something unfamiliar stirs in Yuuri’s gut, and he stands to make his way around the center island in their kitchen to hand the other man his phone before dignifying him with a response.

           “Like, I’d ask to take a picture of him before his dog, hot.”

           Phichit eyes the photo for a moment, wide-eyed, and nods.

           “Dude that’s some pretty serious levels of good genes.”

           Which it  _ was _ . God, it was, and Yuuri hated the smaller part of his brain that hoped Phichit was right about this because he felt like this was something he could work with. The man had a dog – a  _ poodle  _ –, a tender smile, and he seemed to be the type to own up to his mistakes rather than passing them off, and Yuuri’s more than willing to admit that the act of being mature about accidents is attractive on its own. But his eyes kept Yuuri captive, held him prisoner in a gaze set only for him through the camera. The man didn’t know what he looked like, not then, but he  _ was  _ the intended audience.

           Yuuri wasn’t a greedy man, but he could start.

           “I don’t really know much about genetics, biology is your thing, but I do know he’s out of my league either way.”

           Phichit just smiles when his phone comes to life with another message, and he doesn’t pry like Yuuri knows he wants to but instead hands the device back over and returns to his cooking. “I’m not sure you even know what league  _ you’re  _ in, Yuuri, much less if he is out of it.” The undercurrent of fear Phichit’s comment brings starts to bubble under the surface of his skin, a sharp irritation that was gnawing its way to his heart.

           Yuuri does his best to push down the anxiety creeping up his spine, tells his conscious he didn’t make a mistake by sending a picture in response because the other guy did, and it was  _ fair _ . This was fair, it was fine. He was fine. The worst that would happen is they deleted their conversation and went on their separate ways. That’s what  _ would  _ happen, of course, nothing would come out of an accident like this. He can’t get his hopes up, so it’s better this way. He’ll look back on this next year and laugh, and he’ll remember how Phichit said it was fate and Yuuri’d remind him how fate made sure they never made anything out of this.

           He inhales, holds it in tight with all the strength his lungs can muster, and unlocks his phone again to see the reply that was sent right back.

Not a creep at all! You look incredibly warm, on the contrary, and I’m a little jealous about that. I’m glad you weren’t put off by the text. I’m Viktor by the way, it’s nice to meet you. The circumstances are… odd, but I’d love to make a friend out of this.  
  


           In the moment Yuuri’s not sure he’s really all there mentally; he’s positive his soul had left his body the second his phone flashed back to life, but in the instant his eyes fell on the final word of the text, Yuuri was certain he felt his heart stop.

Not a creep at all! You look incredibly warm, on the contrary, and I’m a little jealous about that. I’m glad you weren’t put off by the text. I’m Viktor by the way, it’s nice to meet you. The circumstances are… odd, but I’d love to make a friend out of this.  
  
its really great to meet you viktor, i’m yuuri. i’d love get to know you better.  
  


* * *

 

           It takes one week for Yuuri to learn several more things about Viktor.

           First, on a Monday when the pinkish purples of a sunrise danced along the rooftops of London and a chill in the breeze rocked him to his core, Yuuri learns the name of Viktor’s dog. It’s Makkachin; he read it at 8:04 on his morning walk to the coffee shop right down the street from his apartment. Viktor explained – with three too many exclamation points, and random, unnecessary capitalization – that it was with utmost security that he was sharing that specific detail with Yuuri. He  _ felt  _ honored, a small smile curling his lips up just like the way he found himself when a cup of tea was made just right or the radiator working its hardest to keep Yuuri toasty in mid-December. It was hard not to find a sort of comfortable middle-ground with a silver-haired stranger named Viktor, who had a six-year-old standard poodle named Makkachin who was  _ really  _ fond of playing Frisbee when the leaves had fallen.

           Yuuri finds that he misses Vicchan anytime a new photo is sent through, but he keeps his ugly burdens buried behind paperwork and morning commutes because it was always easier to seem stressed.

* * *

 

           It was Viktor who wakes him up on Thursday, five am sharp with a photo of himself sporting a smile Yuuri grew to recognize and his left middle and index fingers up in the shape of a V.

Viktor  
  
It’s a V for Viktor! And for I hope you have a VERY good Thursday!  
  
viktor i’m not really sure how your personal internal clock works, but i don’t like to be conscious before eight.  
  
My internal clock works just fine! It’s *yours* that has a problem, but I won’t go there. I’m waking you up for your jog since you asked me super nicely yesterday to do so.  
  
honestly any receipts you have are probably fabricated or were sent by an evil twin of mine because i definitely don’t see the merits of jogging at five am.  
  
I find it hard to believe you see the merits of getting out of bed this early in general but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.  
  


           Their exchange is short, interrupted by Yuuri sending a photo of himself in retaliation after rolling out of bed – grey sweats hung at his hips and a slightly oversized blue tank-top that accented his frame in a comfortable, non-constricting way with his hair sticking up in five different directions and his right middle finger standing proudly at attention. Yuuri settles on the simple fact that, maybe, Viktor is a morning person, because only a morning person looks  _ that  _ good and  _ that  _ happy when the sun hadn’t risen yet.

           He’s not sure he minds wake up texts from Viktor.

 

           At 1:34 pm, Yuuri’s phone pings again. He doesn’t have to guess who it’s from now; he and Phichit have a system, they’re both creatures of habits, and while Viktor is more carefree than they are, he does seem to have a pretty set schedule and it’s easy enough for a bored college graduate to figure out. He apologizes to the barista with a small wave of his hand and a tight smile, tapping the home button to unlock his phone with his right hand as he juggles his tea and bagel with the left.

Viktor  
  
28.  
  


           Yuuri can only blink for a moment, looking back to his selfie just above Viktor’s message before tapping out a reply.

Viktor  
  
28.  
  
ill be honest with you i have no idea what you mean by that nor if i should be insulted.  
  
No! Never insulted, I’m a gentleman. ;) And because I’m a gentleman I thought it was important for you to know I’m 28. I didn’t want you to think you were texting some weird silver-fox or something.  
  
in your defense, just because you’re young doesn’t mean you’re any less of a silver-fox.  
  


           If Viktor sent any meaningful reply, it went unread to Yuuri’s eyes while he became lost in the sea of bodies moving on the sidewalk as he forced down a blush behind a too large bite of his bagel and a hunch of his shoulders. Yuuri  _ does  _ check his phone three hours later and bypasses Viktor’s reply, and makes sure to update the calendar on his phone for the twenty-fifth of December to remember to send warm wishes to his new friend on his birthday.

* * *

 

On Friday evening, during his weekly mandatory friendship-dinner with Phichit (and now Seung-Gil), Yuuri learns that Viktor edits footage in his spare time. Seung-Gil pushes Yuuri’s phone to him when it vibrates, and Yuuri thanks him through a mouthful of Gimbap as he unlocks it with his unoccupied left hand. Viktor had sent a simple photo to him; just a saved snapchat photo with FinalCut on the screen of his Macbook (a Pro, Phichit had clarified before going back to his meal). Viktor  _ seemed  _ displeased with his current situation of editing, and while Yuuri couldn’t blame him it was worlds more interesting than anything he was doing with his life.

Viktor  
  
do you edit stuff a lot in your free time?  
  
Typically? No. I usually direct, but sometimes when I need concept work done I just edit the footage myself.  
  
that’s honestly really awesome, it’s a way better hobby than mine.  
  


           Viktor doesn’t reply immediately, and Yuuri is able to nearly finish dinner before he’s interrupted again and nearly drops his glass on the wood floor when he skims over the message he’s received.

           “Holy shit.”

           “What? Is Hot Butt Stuffs actually a serial killer like I called?”

           Yuuri doesn’t fully register the way Seung-Gil offers his boyfriend a bored stare and a concerned tilt of his head. He instead stands up and puts his glass of wine down on the table and hands his phone to his roommate. Aloud, Phichit reads:

Viktor  
  
do you edit stuff a lot in your free time?  
  
Typically? No. I usually direct, but sometimes when I need concept work done I just edit the footage myself.  
  
that’s honestly really awesome, it’s a way better hobby than mine.  
  
This isn’t a hobby for me anymore, thankfully. Have you heard of my films before? Viktor Nikiforov?  
  


           “Oh my god,” Phichit manages through his barking laughter and wheezing breath. Yuuri takes his phone back out of concern, pockets it because he “honestly can’t do this right now”, and throws himself down face first on the couch. They sit in moderate silence, only the sound of Phichit’s laughter making it through the awkward silence that permeated otherwise. Once he managed to calm down, through the help of Yuuri’s glare and Seung-Gil’s urging, Phichit manages to further his initial commentary. “Like, how did you  _ not  _ connect the dots that you were surprise texting the director of your favorite movie?”

           “I mean I wasn’t exactly expecting  _ Viktor Nikiforov  _ to text me on accident about how to take it up the ass. I didn’t even know what he looked like before, I only read up on his professional career!”

           “I don’t know, Yuuri, I think it’s nice that the man who is your pseudo-inspiration for your photography turned out to be such a thoughtful guy. It’s not his fault you never bothered to check him out.”

           Seung-Gil opts to remain silent, instead throwing Yuuri a glance of questioning as he gathers three dirty plates and one emptied glass of wine and heads into the kitchen for privacy. Yuuri doesn’t blame him, not with where this conversation was headed, so he kicks the pillows off the couch with a  _ whump  _ and he lets his eyes fall shut for three beats of his heart.

           “I can’t keep texting him, I’m going to make an ass out of myself,” Yuuri whispers, and Phichit makes his way over to the coffee table to have a seat in front of Yuuri’s line of sight. He places his elbows on his knees, smirk twisted on his lips like a carving in an old tree and Yuuri would swear he can see the spark of mischief in his eyes as they smolder just across from him.

           “You already have, dude. You called him a silver-fox the other day, and let’s be real as badly as you wanted that to be a ‘trust me I know hot and that is exactly what you are’ comment, it definitely wasn’t.”

           His phone pings again, and he knows he it’s Viktor because he’s left his read receipts on, and it’s  _ habit  _ for them now to message each other five minutes after a ‘read’ goes up. It was Viktor’s idea, in theory, to check in but Yuuri never managed to make the effort on his part when he was left waiting. Viktor was always busy, and Yuuri always managed to find an excuse not to bother him. It never was intentional to let himself stay on read, he just didn’t mind the silence. Viktor, however,  _ worried. _

           And Yuuri knew, in his heart, exactly what that text left unread in his back pocket for the time being said.

           “I actually think that’s probably the worst thing I’ve probably ever said, and you know me pretty well and could contest that if you wanted to.” Phichit just shakes his head, draws his legs closer together to make room for Seung-Gil to take a seat at his side, and Yuuri only spares them a disapproving side glance before rolling to face the back of the couch. “How am I supposed to keep this up now that I ruined the perfect glamour of everything I thought Viktor was.”

           “You were going to find out eventually,” their guest whispers, and Yuuri has to peek over his shoulder at the other man to make sure he hadn’t been hearing things before Seung-Gil feels inclined to continue. “Be honest with him. The worst thing that happens is you two stop texting, the best thing is you get something out of this whole thing.”

           “Like what?” Phichit can only blink at Yuuri’s hushed tone, then spares his boyfriend a look of caution for two seconds. Yuuri counted.

           “Look, I don’t know how to tell you this, but due to some unforeseen circumstances, Viktor Nikiforov has been flirting with you. Hard. For, like, a week and a half now.”

           Yuuri lays there in silence, overwhelmed by the notion that Viktor could be doing anything remotely similar to  _ flirting  _ with him, and he reaches blindly behind him for Phichit’s hands to steady himself as he lets his brain process everything. Viktor’s friendly, enough so that he’s fine with sending selfies every day, and good morning texts and messages that encourage Yuuri to push himself every day. Viktor told him once that he knew Yuuri could do whatever he set his mind to, and Yuuri couldn’t find it in him to argue. “He’s not flirting with me, Phichit.”

           Someone (Phichit) makes a strong, affronted noise (he grunts) at his comment before Yuuri’s forced to roll over to his other side by two hands on his side and zero resistance when it counted. He’s face-to-face with two ashen eyes, large and overwhelmingly warm with a certain level of adoration and gentle understanding Yuuri never could pull off. Seung-Gil is still in his spot on the table, flipping through something on his phone while Phichit tackles the present situation in Yuuri’s messages; he envies Seung-Gil for that.

           “I know you don’t see it, but trust me. He’s flirting. Seung-Gil’s right either way, just message him back and be honest. He seems really awesome, Yuuri, I don’t think he’s going to think any lesser of you for being a fan. Besides, you kept texting him after he sent you that article. I think this is what you call fair.

           “Let’s make one thing abundantly clear: I am not asking you to take him on a date or vice versa. Just communicate a little bit, is all. You’re not obligated to do anything or make something out of this, okay? It makes for a great story either way.”

           Phichit was right, as always, and despite his growing irritation over it, Yuuri had to give him that much. If you were asking  _ him  _ about this whole mess, it was something to laugh about over shots with a group of friends at a bar on Saturday nights two years from now. Yuuri wasn’t committing to marriage, he wasn’t even asking Viktor out. Viktor being someone Yuuri had looked up to for years after he had first watched  _ Stammi Vicino  _ didn’t alter anything they had learned about each other thus far.

           Viktor was still a morning person who had a poodle name Makkachin. Viktor was twenty-eight years old, born on December twenty-fifth, Christmas Day. Viktor was an award-winning director, accredited for the masterful and moving cinematic masterpiece that was his second film (and Yuuri’s personal favorite). Viktor, indie film director, and dog lover, was still Viktor.

           And Yuuri was still Yuuri, the same man Viktor woke up with four exclamation points every morning simply because he wanted to.

Yuuri? Are you all right?  
  
yeah im okay! just surprised. really i should have put two and two together a long time ago, but i seriously didn’t even know i was texting *you* this whole time.  
  
Why? Is that bad?  
  


           Yuuri hesitates for a moment when Viktor responds almost immediately, looking to the couple sitting on the coffee table with their hands intertwined and a private conversation happening through meaningful looks and careful touches. He feels a pull in his chest, magnetic in the way it draws his attention back to his phone, and he writes out a reply before he can manage to regret it.

probably what i’d call the opposite of bad. i really loved stammi vicino, you’re one of my favorite directors. i’m honored to know you.  
  
I think the honor is all mine, Yuuri! :) Would you be too off put if I asked you out to coffee sometime?  
  


           A part of Yuuri urges him to hand his phone over to his roommate, to rid himself of responsibility for what they both know he’d say, but instead he inhales, long and steady, and pushes himself forth. He is Yuuri Katsuki, a twenty-four-year-old London University graduate with a degree in linguistics, and  _ the  _ Viktor – no,  _ just  _ Viktor Nikiforov is asking him to coffee.

           No big deal.

you’re awfully lucky i’m fond of old men like you otherwise i’d have to decline.  
  
Yuuri! You wound me :( I’m going to pick when and where so I can properly nurse my bruised ego in the comfort of a familiar space.  
  


           He doesn’t fight the smile on his face as he sends a reply back:

fair. just tell me when and where and i promise i’ll be there with a smile and a flower to make it up to you.  
  
Sounds perfect! :)  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in the moment of acknowledging that Viktor was asking him out for coffee, and the prospect of something building off of this chance encounter, Yuuri remembers the very important detail that has kept him rooted in comfort whenever he talked to Viktor in the past:
> 
> He’s undeniably, unmistakably human.

          Yuuri usually hated suits.

          They were restricting and starchy, and where Phichit was a man of high fashion and tastes out of his price range, Yuuri was more comfortable staying at home in a pair of well-worn sweats and an old t-shirt splattered in paint. He had one ensemble, purchased in July once the stores deemed the spring suit collections thirty-percent worthless. Phichit had called him cheap, having taken on the role of bad influence to get Yuuri to loosen the vice grip he had on his credit card after he had run his fingers along a fairly-priced grey ensemble that had been tucked in the back of the rack in the store.

Instead, he took home a baby-blue three-piece with notched lapels and a light grey pinstripe vest. He didn’t _hate_ the outfit, and begrudgingly agreed with his roommate that it fit him well, but it created the image of a man Yuuri simply wasn’t – clean cut, well mannered, and ready to charm. He thinks he could, in that suit; it had given him a swell of pride when he first wore it, despite his pounding embarrassment. He liked the way it hugged his features, caressed his finer curves and clung tight to his thighs where it needed to. If Yuuri’s previous experiences with suits were anything to go by, however minimal they may have been, he thinks his soulmate red string of fate was the robin’s egg blue thread stitching the suit together. 

          At least purchasing a suit was easier than going on a date with Viktor -  _ the _ Viktor Nikiforov - which had gone absolutely nowhere after Yuuri promptly turned his phone off for two days after agreeing to it in the first place.

          Going on a date with Viktor, or at the least, the  _ prospect  _ of it was terrifying on its own. Yuuri could buy a book, plan a textbook-perfect first date and woo Viktor the way he deserved, but it wouldn’t be organic. It wouldn’t have  _ Yuuri’s  _ touch, and it wouldn’t have been special. Yuuri could always invite him to a movie - no, that was stupid, Viktor was a film director and there was a strict unwritten policy everyone knew that you  _ don’t  _ go to work on a date. Ever. He also considered a game of cricket but nixed that when he remembered just how much he loathed it. And with an upcoming film festival at the end of the week that he was slated to attend, he couldn’t afford to stress himself over the small details of what kind of date he’d take  _ Viktor Nikiforov  _ on.

          So, as Yuuri was wont to do, he turned off his phone two days prior to the event -after texting Viktor that he  _ was  _ going- and didn’t turn it back on until he was an hour and a half into the post-banquet festival on the final night. Avoidance was always easier.

 Which was how he found himself in the corner of a banquet hall with a flute of champagne in his hand, a mingling crowd of twenty-something-year-olds lingering just beside the beverage table out of his reach. He could see Phichit among the group, all bright smiles and erratic hand gestures, the lot of them taken with his exuberant stories and colorful narration. He was always the life of every party they both went to, and while Yuuri had a penchant for keeping to himself, Phichit was keen on keeping everyone engaged in the spectacle that was him.

Guang Hong was shuffling back away from the center of the crowd, careful enough not to draw their attention to him in the process. He was the one participating in the festival, his own film having played earlier in the night between three others. Yuuri remembered meeting him at a party two years prior during Guang Hong’s freshman year, a calm affair held by an American student named Leo in their shared apartment with a drunken body count topping ten.

          Phichit was Yuuri’s in that night, canoodling him into some socialization on a Saturday night during his sophomore year at UCL. He made himself at home on a well-worn plaid couch around eight o’clock that night, three beers into the celebration and having already forgotten just why he was there in the first place. Guang Hong had taken refuge on the left side of Yuuri’s choice of seating, curled up into himself with a glass of water in his hands. Yuuri hadn’t thought it strange, just gave him a weak thumbs up and a knowing smirk before he kicked his legs out on the coffee table and got more comfortable.

          They hadn’t ever been exceptionally close, Yuuri being four years his senior and going through a very different course load than Guang Hong, but they considered each other friends. It was enough to get Yuuri into an after party for the November Film Festival, a small gala event for the filmmakers and guests. It could have been a casual event if he’d been pressed to, but Phichit had urged him to dress up for once and slick his hair back so he could “enjoy himself the way he repeatedly refused to”:

          So Yuuri beckons the smaller star of their group with a jerk of his chin, watches as Guang Hong’s eyes blow wide for a moment in recognition from beside Leo with a tightened grip on his alcohol. Evident lines of worry aged his features, taut muscles in his forehead and a deep frown on his lips. A part of Yuuri sympathizes with him; he was young, only twenty years old now and third-year in school putting a film on show before crotchety critics and more experienced directors.

          Despite his boisterous personality, Phichit only stole the show from someone else when he needed to.

          Guang Hong’s whiskey irises fall on a doorway across the banquet hall, and Yuuri likes to think he’s intuitive enough to pick up on the subtle hints being laid out to him when they both make to break from the festivities. A buzz in his pocket distracts him for a brief second, enough time to peek into his pocket and see his screen lighting up with a text from Viktor and shoulder his way out the door and into the connecting hallway.

          “It’s a shame neither of us does well with big crowds like this. We always manage to wear our nicest stuff to these parties and wander off at some point despite that.” Adjacent to the doorway into the banquet hall sits Guang Hong, back against the wall and legs splayed out in front of him. Something nags to Yuuri that he should gently tap the other’s foot with his own to get him to pull his legs back, but the alcoholic haze takes back over and he’s quick to mimic the young director to his right.

          It wasn’t a shame, in Yuuri’s mind, so much as it was a travesty. It was  _ sad  _ that he always managed to find himself like this on nights he went out, posture poor and body limp against some solid surface with stray hairs falling from their gel hold on the top of his head, both his hands laid palms up at his sides. Mari called it a habit of his, had told him four months ago about how he always wandered off during weddings and funerals as a kid to do the same thing. It wasn’t ever the crowd itself, or even the noise, so despite his own anxieties, he couldn’t completely relate to Guang Hong’s personal feelings.

          He offers a small shrug of consolation instead.

          “I get tired of talking, I think. It’s a lot at once, is all. I don’t exactly hate taking a break from parties if you need someone to calm down with. That’s what I’m here for, I get it.” Neither of them spoke for a moment, comforting commentary unnecessary between the hum of their breathing beyond the barely there thrum of the music inside. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you did a great job. I know this-” Yuuri gestures to the general area surrounding them with his left hand, “-can be a lot to take in at once. But you  _ were  _ invited here with good reason. Don’t let yourself go home tonight thinking something else.”

          Guang Hong gives him a small smile over the fabric of his sleeves, a quiet hint of appreciation that settled a restless energy that lingered around them. It wasn’t in Yuuri’s purview to push the conversation any more than he had, and the hums his friend made every so often were enough to appease his restless mind for the time being.  _ This is enough _ , he thought, pulling his right knee up to his chest. Yuuri could be a presence in the wake of nerves, he could be the ever-present lighthouse on the rocky shores guiding his friends home.

          If Yuuri counted the time that passed between his comments and a response from his friend, he’d have given you six and a half minutes. If you had asked him what he had  _ expected  _ to hear or see from Guang Hong, Yuuri would have replied with a shy wave of his hand and a roll of his shoulders. What happened was something caught two whiskey tinted eyes, blowing them wide in front of Yuuri’s gaze as they trailed beyond his form.

          Then, of course, the dusting blush across the bridge of Guang Hong’s nose caught Yuuri’s attention more than anything. Looking back, that should have been his first sign t someone else in the hallway was with them, but his senses were dulled by three flutes of champagne and quiet, private chatter with a friend.

          No one could be faulted for Yuuri’s character flaws in that moment. Even Yuuri couldn’t manage it.

          “Yuuri?”

          A stranger’s voice, slurred and husky from behind the two of them, had him bristling a bit from the sudden interruption. =A heavy accent laced the words, dragging each one down into a more guttural vocalization of the English language than he was accustomed to. It wasn’t familiar, by any means, but a sense of comfortable warmth came with the inquiry into his name. So Yuuri straightened up his posture, ran a hand through his gelled hair as if that was going to make him any more presentable, and looked up and over his shoulder with his breath caught in his throat.

          “Viktor?”

          Maybe God never meant for Angels to walk on Earth, but Viktor managed. There was a simple elegance to his posture that held Yuuri’s interest, the way his hands dipped into his pockets and he cocked his right hip out in a shift of posture. There was a lot that Viktor  _ was _ , charismatic and unequivocally breathtaking as he stood above Yuuri at five foot eleven. He was also Russian, and if Yuuri’s own personal research into the director years prior hadn’t handed him that information the accent from moments earlier would.

          Yuuri, by some stroke of luck, managed to put on his best smile and give his friend a casual once-over without looking as nervous as his chest said he was. Phichit would tell him later that night it was bad manners to check your friend out when you first met them, but Yuuri would counter that it was  _ Viktor _ and he was dressed sharply in a grey pinstriped suit with a chocolate tie wearing a knowing grin on his moisturized lips like it belonged there.

          It wasn’t any secret  _ both  _ of them fit well in their evening attire, appreciative gazes more telling than either of them were willing to be.

          Guang Hong finally breaks the silence, though, coughing into his fist beside Yuuri with a quiet ‘sorry’. Viktor wasn’t some cryptic anomaly in his life, most of Yuuri’s friends were aware of just  _ who  _ he was at one point or another. The Russian director’s claim to fame within the small circle of friends climbed when he revealed his identity to Yuuri through text while he was enjoying dinner. No, despite Yuuri’s better efforts Guang Hong knew very well who was standing to Yuuri’s side.

          Fate was always, mercilessly cruel to him.

          “Guang Hong this is, uh. This is Viktor. Nikiforov.”

          Two thin brows rise up the other’s face, and Yuuri deflects with an awkward chortle while he stands back up.

          “Viktor, this is my friend Guang Hong. I’ve known him since I was a third year in college, and he was presenting tonight.” He has to pause to tighten his jaw as his gaze moves from Viktor’s flashing eyes over to the other man who remained seated on the floor. “He presented at the festival, so I’m here to cheer him on. Or celebrate, I guess?”

          The brunette nods with Yuuri’s comment, and finding no reason he may have misspoken regarding the reason  _ he _ was here, he continued. “I know you weren’t presenting anything, though. You would have told me about it, or I would have seen you in the program. So what gets Viktor Nikiforov to dress up and mingle on a Saturday night?”

_           Many reasons _ , his mind supplied,  _ but not you.  _ It wouldn’t have been; couldn’t have been, Yuuri hadn’t shared any information about attending the festival and Viktor had made an avid effort of avoiding any discussion of work and all related lines of inquiry. That was easily respected; Yuuri didn’t want to push Viktor’s boundaries and in the meantime the cultivated a meaningful friendship over the past three weeks through jokes about dogs and Viktor’s now-ritual five AM puns.

          Instead, Viktor slipped his left hand from his pants pocket, ducking it beneath his blazer to grab a small sheet of cardstock. Yuuri could see silver calligraphy at the top, swirling letters forming the words “you are formally invited” just beneath a thinly lined border. It was a very impressive piece of paper, official enough to keep Yuuri at bay from asking more questions, and he makes this point clear with a sheepish glance away from the invitation and a hunch of his shoulders.

          “I might like my privacy but I  _ was  _ asked to be here, after all. I told you right after you messaged me that you were coming a few days ago. Didn’t you get it?”

          He did. It sat unread on a silenced phone in his pocket, and Yuuri fought hard to keep his blush down when he let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Right, yeah. I got the text, but I was in the middle of something, so I didn’t read it.” He pulls the phone from his pocket to give it a slight wave in the air for added emphasis, and lets his own smile match Viktor’s. “I’m sorry.”

          “Now you owe me two flowers, Katsuki. Your debt is going to be a bouquet by the time you catch up.” Viktor moves around Yuuri to stand in front of Guang Hong, then, extending one arm out with his hand open with invitation. A disaster of thoughts clouds Yuuri’s head, and as Guang Hong reaches out to shake Viktor’s hand with slight reluctance he can only wonder if it’s just him feeling this way. “It’s nice to meet you.”

          “Ah – You too, yeah. I watched  _ Stammi Vicino  _ with Yuuri before, I really admire your cinematography.” For a brief moment, Yuuri can  _ see  _ something flash in Viktor’s eyes, but it’s barely there and quickly replaced by a smile that feels too fake and a tilt of his head that gives him away. In their personal conversations, Yuuri always avoided the usage of words like ‘admire’ and ‘idolize’, a small part of his mind fearing it may push Viktor away more than it’d invite him in. There was always an understanding of where exactly Viktor stood regarding his creative works – proud, but disappointed all the same.

          He could always be more, do more, film  _ better _ . It was an endless list of ‘what if’s and ‘how to’s. That’s what he had told Yuuri, anyway, through a filter of his finest vodka and under the guise of an insightful drunk. Viktor was human, painfully so that it showed most when he was feeling complacent during the week. A part of him, for some inexplicable reason, trusted Yuuri with the demons he felt comfortable enough sharing, and in return, Yuuri did his best to be a friend Viktor felt he could reach out to when he needed that sort of comfort.

          But Viktor was always a sort of enigma on his own, and he stood tall and flashed a smile Yuuri was pressed to feel blinded by. Interviews across the web prized Viktor for his gentlemanly ways, waxed poetic about the sparking lights of inspiration that reflected in his eyes and mourned time lost to things like his interview-packed calendar and a few more parties he was asked to attend instead. They were things that kept Yuuri’s interest piqued, had him curious about the man behind a camera with an artist’s eye for movement. It was enough alone to get to text Viktor every day, to see the way he lit up through his words when Yuuri managed to reply back quickly, and compartmentalize the different tones Viktor took on throughout the day. It wasn’t any different now, in the flesh, watching as Viktor shifted himself into the ever-charming persona that was  _ the  _ Viktor Nikiforov.

          “Thank you, but tonight’s not about me or  _ my  _ works. You and the other presenters here are why I’m a guest. We should be complimenting  _ your  _ cinematography and especially storytelling. It was darker than what I’d have guessed you’d film now that I’ve met you personally, but I think that says a lot about the kind of work you can accomplish.” He offers Guang-Hong a smile, fake and strained through the polite undertones of his compliment, and Yuuri takes a moment to clear the air of the unanswered awkwardness with a light clap to his friend’s back. “I meant what I said earlier, you did  _ great _ . I know how easy it is to get lost in your head, but trust me; you deserve to be here just as much as all the other directors do. You earned it, and it shows.”

          Guang Hong had spent the better part of the last year working on this film, had it written since he was sixteen and finally,  _ finally  _ brought the culmination of all his studies and practicing together to make such a moving piece. Leo had done well as the lead, and Yuuri had told him so as soon as the second day’s showing had ended. The film  _ was  _ dark, even for Guang Hong, who seemingly wouldn’t harm a fly if you had given him the right circumstances to do it, but Viktor was right – that’s why it stood out amongst the others. It wasn’t what the audience had expected when Guang Hong had made his introduction, and it left everyone in stunned silence once the credits rolled before they rolled into a thunderous applause.

          He had worked hard for his recognition and his showing, and at the end of the day, Yuuri was proud to be able to say he was friends with so many talented people.

          It’s Viktor who moves finally, angling the lines of his body towards Yuuri instead now as Guang Hong was left to collect his thoughts for a brief moment. The obvious air of confidence about the Russian man to his right relaxed Yuuri, some deeper emotion beyond the half-lidded gaze he kept Yuuri in as he slid a hand from his pocket to rub at the shorter man’s shoulder. “I think I’m all partied out, though. I’m not looking to pull you away from your friends, but I was going to grab some coffee if you wanted to make good on your word.”

          He did.  _ God,  _ he did, and it showed in the way his fingers twitched to his side with subtle anticipation. Spending more time with Viktor was always on the table, never something Yuuri could bring himself to turn down, and he  _ had  _ made a promise to him too; coffee and a flower, which Viktor was mindful enough earlier to remind him about regardless. He  _ wasn’t  _ prepared for the implication of a spontaneous date. He wasn’t ever going to be ready to know Viktor on a more personal, intimate level beyond their text conversations. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this; Viktor clad in a sinful striped suit that fit him too well, with a spark in his eye and a warm curve to his lips that was  _ only  _ for Yuuri. Viktor wasn’t supposed to show up here, to a party in a small banquet hall in Westminster with a VIP invitation and the sheer desire to take Yuuri out.

          Away from the crowds and his friends back inside the main hall, to a more private affair in a quiet booth somewhere else in London.

          Just the two of them.

          It should have ended with Yuuri declining politely, gesturing to Guang Hong with a hopeful smile on his face as he explained that he was here to support his friend. It  _ should  _ have ended with a taxi ride back home in an hour and a half, a drunken Phichit nearly passed out in the back seat as he laid his head on Yuuri’s lap and fought off sleep until they got home. Yuuri, instead, rubs at the back of his neck with his left hand, hiding a blush poorly in his bend of his arm as he breathes out an eager “I’d love to”, in which Viktor responds to with a beaming smile and a light squeeze to the shoulder he cradled so gently.

          Because, at the end of the day, despite Yuuri’s best efforts to deny fate her whims he couldn’t ever dream of saying no to  _ Viktor _ .

          “Don’t worry, Yuuri, I’ll let Phichit know what’s going on. Have fun and be safe, okay? No more drinking either, you know how you get.” He did, unfortunately. “Thanks for coming out, though. It means a lot that you supported me, and thanks for coming out here to keep me company when  _ that  _ got to be a bit much.” The emphasis isn’t lost, especially not as Guang Hong nods his head back towards the doors of the banquet hall and offers Viktor and Yuuri a small shrug.

          So Yuuri pulls him into a small hug, nothing too overwhelming for two flighty men in social situations, rubs a hand up and down the younger man’s back because it was the best thing he could think of to show his appreciation. He  _ did  _ appreciate Guang Hong, just as he did with the other friends in his life, and especially now when the prospect of a date with one of the most important influential figures in his twenty-four years of life was hanging out on the horizon.

         “Thank you, really. I’ll send you a message later when we get to where we’re going, okay? I don’t want you to worry.”

          “And I promise I’ll have him home before midnight, it’s the least I could do since you are so graciously letting me steal him away.” An underlying purr to Viktor’s voice lowered the register as he stepped forward and crowded into their personal space. His tone reminded Yuuri of an unspoken promise, warm and teasing under the surface of Viktor’s words that kept him on edge and wondering. Hope was one of those emotions, taunting and prideful as Yuuri pulled away from Guang Hong to settle himself in more comfortably at Viktor’s side (and at a respectable, friendly distance too).

          “I’m holding you to that, Nikiforov. Phichit probably would too if he wasn’t so gone, so I’ll do it instead.” The youngest of the three gives a soft grin and a final wave before he lets himself dive back into the social fray that lingered beyond the ornate wood doors, and for the first time in his life, Yuuri is left alone to his thoughts about Viktor  _ and  _ Viktor in the flesh. It’s overwhelming. It shouldn’t have been  _ real _ , but it was, and Viktor was still touching Yuuri – let his hand linger on the shorter man’s shoulder for a brief moment before sliding down and off his back completely.

          Nothing would go wrong.

          They take a moment of silence after the third member left their party to soak in the presence of being alone, and Yuuri chances a glance up at Viktor for a moment to catch him staring hard at the light fixtures by each door down the stretch of hallway they had hidden in. Maybe he was lost in thought too, mind drifting far away from the situation he was in currently to something  _ better _ , with less Yuuri and more people who were fun and sociable. Anything but this, and oh, God, he must have  _ hate _ -

          “There’s a pub two blocks down called The Clarence. Been around for a while but they have good food and better tea and beer. I’m sure we could find some coffee there.”

          Yuuri wouldn’t want anything  _ else _ , but he gives Viktor a small nod and smile instead from his side. “I’ve heard of it before, just hadn’t ever gotten to go and try it out. You’re just presenting me with a missed opportunity.” And that settled the awkward tension in the air, because Viktor let out an undignified snort and slapped a leather gloved hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Even in the moment of acknowledging that Viktor was asking  _ him _ out for coffee, and the prospect of something building off of this chance encounter, Yuuri remembers the very important detail that has kept him rooted in comfort whenever he talked to Viktor in the past:

          He’s undeniably, unmistakably human.

          A ping in Yuuri’s pocket shatters the illusion he was lost in, shameful and embarrassed he could have been so distracted by a laugh that they were still standing in the hallway alone with eyes only trained on each other. He gives Viktor a quiet apology – which in return he’s given a nonchalant wave to tell him it was  _ totally fine _ \- as he slides the phone out of his front pocket. He can see the name on the screen, bright and taunting because Yuuri knows Phichit had been given the low-down by Guang Hong not minutes before.

(Peach )Peach(Peach )

  
omgg yuruii get himM! Aslo b sfe ? nd use protection and ill see u in the mornin g . much love!   
  


There wasn’t a distinct difference between drunk and sober Phichit, just the innate amount of typos and a larger lacking filter than he had before. Yuuri wasn’t sure even Seung-Gil had the pleasure of seeing his boyfriend like this yet, though at the same time it _was_ Phichit and there wasn’t much to doubt that he had already comfortably found a way to message his quiet History major who was working on his thesis back at home with unintelligible pickup lines and far too many uses of the eggplant and sweat emojis.

(Peach )Peach(Peach )

  
omgg yuruii get himM! Aslo b sfe ? nd use protection and ill see u in the mornin g . much love!   
  
christ, phichit, how much did you drink? its fine, nothings going to happen. we’re just getting coffee, ill be home later. don’t give guang hong a hard time either.  
  
;)))))  
  
don’t you give me that look or you won’t be getting any details when I get home.  
  


Yuuri receives a lengthened frowny face in return, but it goes unread as he re-pockets his phone and refocuses back on the present; Viktor, their spontaneous date, coffee, _date_ , that suit hugging Viktor’s chest just right, **date**. He could handle this.

“I’m sorry, Phichit wanted to check in with me. Roommates and best friends, you know? Dangerous to make someone both of them at once, because let me tell you it went straight to his head.” Viktor is all smiles, a stark difference to the ones he was providing Guang Hong earlier when he had someone he _had_ to be for the purpose of his image. No, now it was soft, a light curve into the features of his face, and Yuuri could see the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that said more about just how Viktor felt than he had been verbally told all night. They were subtle differences, small things Yuuri had grown used to with his photo exchanges over the past month in which he found himself noticing more often than not now they were together.

_Together._

“I’d have been concerned if he didn’t text you, trust me. It’s fine. Are you ready?”

_No, never._

“Yeah, definitely. I was born ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am showing up a week late with Starbucks and a shorter chapter, I am so sorry. I worked about 65 hours over the past eight days, and before that the two days I had off were spent in bed sick with an upper respiratory infection, so it took some time to get this cranked out. These chapters are way shorter than what I typically write, and I'm so sorry in advance for that. I try to aim for a minimum of 5k but this didn't even touch that number. Really, though, I could have added what was supposed to be the next chapter at the end of this but it didn't feel right and you all deserve an entire chapter dedicated to their late night date. It'll be longer and (hopefully) on time. I swear to it!
> 
> Now, for some chapter notes!
> 
> 1\. This whole chapter is just an emphasis of the point that Yuuri has a very clear image of what love should be and what his destiny is and life is continuing to NOT be what he wants. It's working out for him, though.  
> 2\. Their festival is very real! It's called the November Film Festival, and it usually goes on from Friday-Sunday in mid November from what I've seen.  
> 3\. I don't like to take creative liberties, but I did in assuming there was some kind of post-festival banquet here. At least for this one, there is! And it's located at the very real [Banqueting House](https://www.hrp.org.uk/banqueting-house/) in Westminster.  
> 4\. While I'll link it in Ch 3 too, the pub Viktor mentions is ALSO real. [The Clarence](http://www.theclarencewhitehall.com/gallery) is just two blocks away from the Banquet House, so it worked in my favor!  
> 5\. Yuuri's suit is referenced after [this one](http://lifetailored.com/blog/blue-suit-white-oxfords/). I really, REALLY love this look too. Yuuri in this suit with his glasses on and hair slicked back? Thanks, me.  
> 6\. Viktor's suit is a [custom make from Tailorable](https://tailorablenco.tumblr.com/post/81362236261/suit-loropiana-cotton-wool) and is seen here! Stunning piece, really. And has a [second image](https://twitter.com/megalohdon/status/926579612712407040) to show the coloring in different light too.  
> 7\. I had my timeline a little wonky in the first chapter so I went back and fixed it. Just note: Yuuri went to school once he turned 20, and spent 3 years at home working and saving up money to support himself abroad. Phichit is the same age he is in canon, but went to school at 18 instead of waiting for Yuuri, so he's now in his Senior year. Guang Hong is 20 in this fic, and is a Junior!
> 
> As always, thanks to my lovely beta [Marr](https://twitter.com/SH_Marr_Writes) for helping with this fic/chapter and making it super tolerable for you all to read! And I'm blessed my waxing poetic for Viktor is the compliment hotspot when we edit.
> 
> Kudos, faves, subscriptions, and comments keep me going! Also, I really love live tweets and such? If you see (or do it yourself) anyone live tweeting SWN please @ me on there! It warms my heart up.
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Megalohdon) and [Tumblr](http://megalohdon.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> There was a [Tweet](https://twitter.com/gayzappp/status/916489237343690752) that inspired this WHOLE fic, and honestly, I'm only half sorry about it.
> 
> I'm not confident nor amazing with fluff and humor fics, but I hope this serves you well and you stick with me for this. I have no real chapter idea at the moment? I don't want this to get too long, but who knows. This is a whole story of how they fall in love, and they'll continue to bring that damn text up over the course of their relationship simply because they can.
> 
> Thanks to my darling beta [Marr](https://twitter.com/SH_Marr_Writes) who saves me and my fics all the time. I'm blessed.
> 
> Just a few things to note for this one!
> 
> 1.) Yuuri is in London because I asked Twitter and that was the first Non-US suggestion  
> 2.) Yuuri is going to London University because they have a really solid Linguistics program, and the one he's in specifically is a four year one where the last year is spent abroad (the US for him)  
> 3.) Gimbap is a Korean dish, and Phichit cooked it especially for Seung-Gil because of course he did  
> 4.) There's 100% another side to the story of how Seung-Gil and Phichit wound up together but that's a story for another day  
> 5.) Seung-Gil comments about Stalin when he hears about Yuuri's five-year plan. When I was googling for sources I got Stalin's five-year economic plan instead :') I'll bring it back later
> 
> This is like, half the size of my normal chapter count but since I've had a hard time writing as of late (physically and mentally) I think this is a good start. It also ended on the perfect note, I felt, and I didn't want to add any more to it and crowd it with unnecessary things that could go in future chapters.
> 
> I will make a strong effort to update weekly but with my work schedule and two present injuries I'm being treated for I may flop on that from time to time. Bear with me I promise I'm sticking with this.
> 
> Side note, if you're curious about OBHAEG chapter 3 I AM currently writing it. I'm struggling a bit with the mood, but it's a slow, in progress piece. It is NOT on hiatus or abandoned! I promise. 
> 
> If you liked this story, give me a kudos and leave a comment if you want to! Also be sure to subscribe if you want to stay updated. Feedback gives me life, and especially when it comes to a genre I'm not confident in I would appreciate it.
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/megalohdon) and [Tumblr](http://megalohdon.tumblr.com/)!


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